"I am so sick, mother."
"You will be better up. What were you doing last night? What has come of it all? Where are your things?"
"At the club.—You had better leave me now, and let Sam come up to me." Sam was the page.
"I will leave you presently; but, Felix, you must tell me about this. What has been done?"
"It hasn't come off."
"But how has it not come off?"
"I didn't get away. What's the good of asking?"
"You said this morning when you came in, that Mr. Melmotte had discovered it."
"Did I? Then I suppose he has. Oh, mother, I wish I could die. I don't see what's the use of anything. I won't get up to dinner. I'd rather stay here."
"You must have something to eat, Felix."